Target for removal

The rain had thinned into a silver drizzle by the time Cael steadied Lucien against him. The ruins lay hushed behind them, their stones glistening, holding too many ghosts. Future Cael’s shadow lingered in Cael’s mind, sharp as a blade: the desperation in his eyes, the chains he wrapped around Lucien’s wrists with trembling hands.

But this—this Lucien in his arms—was real. His pulse fluttered faintly beneath cold skin. His breathing came shallow but steady. And when Lucien finally stirred, eyelids trembling open, it was like the storm itself dared to pause.

“Cael?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain, the single word breaking in the middle. “I… don’t understand. Why was there—” His throat worked around the word. “Another you?”

Cael lowered himself to the damp ground beside him, his knees sinking into the mud. He didn’t want to speak. For so long, silence had been his shield. But Lucien deserved the truth.

He took a slow breath. “Because this isn’t the first time.”

Lucien blinked at him, confusion knitting his brows. “What do you mean?”

“The loops,” Cael said, each syllable scraping raw against his throat. “Every time you die, the world collapses. It resets. And I—” He faltered, his voice catching. “I’ve carried it, Lucien. Again and again. Watching you fall. Watching you disappear. No matter what I tried, it was never enough. Until… I learned how to rewind it all.”

Lucien’s lips parted, his breath stuttering in his chest. “You—rewind… time?”

Cael nodded once. “At the cost of —. I thought if I kept trying, if I...tried enough times, I could save you. But no matter how many cycles… the story always demanded your end. It's was my fault, everything was. I never shouldn't have written that story...”

The drizzle pattered on stone, soft as broken glass. Lucien pressed his hands over his knees, fingers trembling. “So every time… I closed my eyes, every time I—” His voice cracked. “You were the one who suffered after..”

Cael’s throat tightened. He wanted to deny it, to take the weight out of Lucien’s eyes, but he couldn’t. Not when truth was all they had left. “Yes.”

Lucien shook his head slowly, strands of wet hair clinging to his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice rose, thin with pain. “You think I wanted you to carry all of that by yourself? Cael—” He reached out suddenly, gripping Cael’s wrist with surprising strength. His eyes shone, not just with fear but with something fiercer. “I don’t resent you. I resent that you thought you had to bear it alone. You're not alone. You've me, Arian, Toren, ours friends with you.”

Cael looked down at him, unguarded, and for once he couldn’t stop the tears that burned their way free. They rolled silently down his face, warm against the cold rain.

“But it was my—”

Lucien lifted a trembling hand and brushed them away, thumb gentle against Cael’s cheek. “If this is what this does to you… then I’d rather we carry it together. Even if it breaks us.”

The words gutted Cael more than any blade. He bowed his head, forehead brushing Lucien’s. His voice was a whisper. “I was so afraid you’d hate me. That you’d look at me and see nothing but chains.”

Lucien closed his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I just… I don’t want you to become him. That other you—the one who caged me.” His breath trembled. “Promise me you won’t.”

“I won’t,” Cael said, fierce and certain. “Not now. Not ever.”

---

The walk back to the academy was long, mud sucking at their boots, trees dripping with silver threads of rain. Lucien leaned on him at first, but stubbornly straightened after a few steps. “No more cages,” he muttered. “No more being carried. I’ll walk myself.”

Cael allowed it, though he hovered close enough to catch him if he stumbled. The forest seemed quieter, yet still alive with unseen eyes. The System had not let them go.

A flicker in Cael’s vision made him tense.

[System Recalibration: Divergence Acknowledged.]

[Continuity Integrity — 41%.]

[Warning: Correction Protocol Pending.]

The words burned white across his sight, then faded, leaving only unease behind.

Lucien noticed his stillness. “What is it?”

Cael shook his head lightly. “Nothing you need to worry about right now.”

Lucien frowned, but didn’t press. His steps were slow but deliberate, every breath determined. Small questions filled the silence—how long had he been gone, who else knew—and Cael answered with gentle honesty, each truth uncoiling another knot between them.

---

The academy gates loomed at last, torches blazing despite the lingering drizzle. The courtyard was chaos—students clustered under cloaks, professors barking orders, search parties dripping mud as they returned.

“Cael! Lucien!”

Toren’s voice cracked through the noise. He and Darius broke from the crowd, sprinting across the courtyard. Toren’s eyes were wild, his usual grin gone. “We thought—you—dammit, why didn’t you send some sign?!” His words tumbled out, too fast, too sharp.

Before Cael could answer, Toren grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him once before pulling him into a crushing embrace. Darius pressed a hand to Lucien’s arm, his usual calm fractured by the tightness around his eyes.

“We scoured half the grounds,” Darius said hoarsely. “You just vanished, you're kidnapped from before our eyes.”

“We’re here now,” Cael murmured, steadying them both.

The professors converged next, Mistress Veyra at their head. Her robe was soaked through, her jaw set like iron. “What in the world happened?”

Cael shifted subtly, shielding Lucien from their piercing gazes. “He was taken, but I brought him back. I’ll explain everything… later.”

Her eyes narrowed, but something in his tone silenced further questioning—for now. She nodded curtly, motioning the others to give space.

---

A flutter of wings cut through the damp air. A hawk, feathers slick from rain, swooped down and landed on the nearest torch-bracket. A scroll tube dangled from its talon, marked with a familiar crest.

Lucien’s breath caught. His family’s seal.

Hands trembling, he opened it. The ink had run slightly from moisture, but the words were frantic, pressed deep into parchment:

We heard what happened. Rumors spread like wildfire. Lucien, you must return at once. Your life is too precious to gamble in such a place. Please, come back to the estate where it is safe. We beg you. 

—Mother, Father.

Lucien’s shoulders hunched as he read, the weight of expectation pressing down like a stone. He lowered the letter, lips pale.

Cael leaned close, voice quiet but firm. “It’s your choice, Lucien. Not theirs.”

Lucien’s throat worked, but he gave no answer.

---

The last search party stumbled in not long after, their cloaks plastered to their backs. At their head was Arian.

The instant his eyes landed on Lucien, something broke. Relief first—raw, bright—but then it was gone, buried under fury. He strode forward, every step sharp.

“You—” His finger jabbed at Cael’s chest. “Do you have any idea—how reckless—you disappear into the storm and come back like nothing happened—how can you just let them kidnapped you.” His voice cracked mid-word, shattering his anger. He turned sharply away, shoulders shaking.

Cael stepped closer, unflinching. “Arian… you don’t have to act tough. Not with him. Not now.” His voice softened. “Tell me what you’re really feeling.”

Arian’s fists clenched at his sides. For a long moment he stood rigid, trembling. Then the words tore out of him, raw and unguarded.

“I thought I lost you!” His throat constricted, tears breaking loose. I thought again I failed. 

“I can’t—dammit, I can’t keep watching people vanish. Not again.”

Cael gripped his arm firmly. “You won’t. Not while I’m here. Not while we’re together.”

Silence fell around them, heavy and fragile. The group gathered closer—Toren, Darius, Elira, Lucien at Cael’s side—forming a circle in the rain, each of them holding the same fragile truth: they had nearly lost everything.

---

The moment might have lasted. It might have settled into relief.

But the System never allowed peace.

A searing white text cut through Cael’s vision, cruel as a knife.

[Correction Protocol Engaged.]

[Target for Removal: Cael.]

Cael froze. Lucien’s hand tightened on his sleeve, sensing the shift. The storm might have passed, but a greater one had just begun.

•••